


Kismet

by cas_tielle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coffee, M/M, Tech Support, lost cat, prompts, submissions accepted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cas_tielle/pseuds/cas_tielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kismet (n.)<br/>1. fate; destiny</p><p>through time and space and alternate realities, merlin emrys and arthur pendragon are drawn to each other. perhaps they were always meant to be.</p><p>[a series of merthur fics]<br/>[hiatus]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [1] cats, lost and found

**Author's Note:**

> cats, lost and found: 
> 
> there’s this pretty guy with dark hair and beautiful eyes who lost his cat. along with his cat, arthur finds other things.

**Prompt:** **lost cat [AU]**

 

 

Arthur’s day doesn’t start off too well. For one, he’d gone to bed at four in the morning – working on his next proposal for the company – only to be rudely awoken in two hours time by a man more boyishly handsome than he had any right to be. There had been heavy pounding all along the ground of the block, loud enough that Arthur, along with everyone else on that floor, had no chance of getting any sleep whatsoever. He’d heard a voice calling something unintelligible, knocks on wood and irritated mumblings from his neighbours and door slams, and peeked his head out into the corridor. He’d barely registered a mop of dark hair and a flash of brilliant blue before he darted back inside, hopefully before the man could see him. Too late, though, he’d been spotted.

“Oi, blondie! Wait a minute,” he’d yelled, stopping Arthur just before he could close the door. “Sorry about all this; really, I am,” he’d apologized somewhat sheepishly. “See, the thing is, I have this friend, right, and he’s sort of a jackass but I love him anyway, and he got kicked out of his flat, the idiot, and his new landlord doesn’t allow pets, see, so he had to do something with his cat and since I was stupid enough to let Will talk me into it – that’s his name, Will – I agreed to keep the damn thing and it’s only been the first week and she’s just so _tiny_ so she managed to slip out from under my nose somehow so you haven’t seen a little grey kitten roaming the halls by any chance, have you?”

He used his hands a lot as he talked, Arthur had noticed, wide palms and slender fingers. He made his gestures in synchronization with his words, and he used those beautiful fingers to draw back and run them through his hair when Arthur shook his head that, no, he hadn’t seen any strays but he would keep a sharp eye out for them.

The man made a face, thanked him anyway, and continued down the hall, asking the neighbours and calling, “Aithusa! Here, kitty-kitty, come to Papa…”

After that, Arthur scratched his disheveled head and shut the door. It had been too early to get ready for work, but too late to go back to bed. And so he had made himself a cuppa and sat by his window, watching the cars beneath the building as they sped along the roads, and the sun as it crept up behind everyone in the early morning, and paying close attention as London woke itself up.

At work, he gave his presentation on an advertisement for a new men’s deodorant and the board approved it. As usual, Uther sat in the back and looked on appreciatively, with a barely noticeable nod as the only indication of his pride. The rest of the day had been spent in his office, working out the kinks of his newly approved proposal with his infuriating co-worker.

“I really don’t think that’s the right shade of blue,” Catrina had argued, pointing to the lettering. “It creates a terrible contrast against the background. I’m telling you, you _need_ to change it to the one I picked out.”

Arthur rubbed his forehead. “They’re the exact same color,” he told her.

“You men are so blind.”

He sighed deeply and loudly.

Back home, he rummages through his pockets for his keys and shoves the door open. He is greeted by the sight of a tiny grey kitten sitting right in front of the entrance, swishing her tiny grey tail and chewing on one of his socks with her tiny pink mouth.

“Oh, fucking hell,” he says, sinking to his knees and dropping his briefcase on the floor. He glances briefly out into the corridor, just to make sure that the dark haired man isn’t close behind, then shuts the door, and leans against it.

The kitten tilts her head to the side, blinking innocently up at him as if she hasn’t just become the cherry topping on his already exhausting day. She drops the sock, half gnawed.

“What do you want, you bloody cat?” Arthur sighs, reaching out and rubbing her head. He can’t remember her name, though her owner had said it only this morning. Something with an A, he’s sure of it. “Aislinn? Aimee?” he tries. “Aitha? A-Aithusa?”

She purrs in contentment at the last one.

“Aithusa, then,” says Arthur, still stroking her fur. He pushes himself onto his stomach, resting his chin on his fist and letting himself come eye-to-eye with the cat. “Where’s your owner?”

Aithusa makes a funny blowing noise and her tiny pink tongue peeks out.

“Well, _I_ don’t know his name. How am I supposed to know? You’re the one who ran away,” Arthur chides, and she licks his nose. There’s a little wet patch on his skin and he doesn’t bother wiping it off.

“You know, your master has the most intense eyes I’ve ever seen,” he continues thoughtlessly as his fingers play with the kitten’s fur. “Felt like he was staring into my soul the whole time he talked.”

It looks like Aithusa is nodding, although, if Arthur is being honest, she has some pretty amazing eyes, too. Her startling blue eyes are softened by her lightly coloured pelt, unlike her mystery owner, who’s eyes are only intensified by his inky hair. And god, those _hands_. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine them now. Long, elegant fingers, sliding down his chest, thumbs hooking under his belt, can almost feel the palm of his hand wrapping itself around him, gripping him firmly at his base –

Damn him, whoever he is. Arthur likes routine, and that does not include fantasizing like a bloody schoolboy.

“Barely even met the guy and I’m already daydreaming about him and stroking his cat,” he tells Aithusa with a pitiful chuckle at himself. She licks her paws and meows in agreement.

“You really are quite cute,” remarks Arthur, smoothing down a tuft of fur between her eyes. “But you have to go home.”

He pulls his hands back from her and pushes himself to his knees. Exhales slowly. Purses his lips. He beckons to Aithusa, waiting for her to jump into his palms, but instead, she makes a spitting noise, drawing back.

“Don’t be rude,” Arthur says, annoyed. “You’re not mine, and I need to return you to your rightful home. Come on.” He leans forward and tries to pick her up but her little body twists around and she sinks her teeth into his thumb.

“ _Fuck._ ” Shaking his fist, Arthur watches as she scampers away from him. “Goddamnit, cat, I don’t need this today.”

In response, Aithusa buries herself under the couch and mewls angrily. Any further attempts to pull her out result in more hissing and biting, that which Arthur refuses to subject himself to.

In the end, Arthur googles ‘kitten care’ and fetches a pan of water and a strip of tinned salmon and leaves it by the sink. It’s not even nine yet, but he crashes without bothering to feed himself.

 

 


	2. [2] cats, lost and found

The next morning, both pans are empty and the tiny grey kitten is nowhere to be found, though from the grating noises in the back of the pantry, he can guess where she is. He pushes his mouth to one side. He’s going to need to fix the wood panels back there, at the rate she’s going.

He’s spot on. He comes home to banging sounds even before he’s opened the door. The minute he does, he sees a tiny grey blur streaking across the floor, banging into boxes and vases and quite nearly knocking over his television stand.

“What the fuck?” he says aloud, and lunges as it teeters. He steadies it, and his eyes dart over as Aithusa’s nails screech when she drags them roughly down a ceramic pot. They both yowl and Arthur claps his hands over the sides of his head against the assault on his eardrums.

“Alright, you want to play?” he growls. “Let’s not.”

He leaps for the cat, grasping nothing but air as she slips through his fingers. Her little body skitters under the couch and Arthur drops to his knees, then to his chest and then worms his way after her. Of course, he doesn’t get very far – he’s got wide shoulders, see – but he manages to get his head under the couch. Aithusa flits over and darts barely out of the reach of Arthur’s outstretched hand, and makes a funny sound that sounds suspiciously like laughter, when he tries to pull out and realizes that fuck, he can’t.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” he says, panicking suddenly and pushing, but the stupid furniture doesn’t move. He can already feel the beads of perspiration forming on his forehead as he struggles to pull himself out of there, muscles straining to lift the legs of the couch which had been screwed into the floorboards; something he is deeply regretting; and Aithusa, being the fucking cat that she is, cackles in her cat-like way, jumps forward, and licks his nose again.

Arthur’s always been a dog person.

Reluctantly, he reaches for his phone and contemplates who to call. He’d go for Gwaine normally, but it’s a Friday night which means that he’s out getting shit-faced, and probably laid. Leon would be his second bet, except he knows how stressed he’s been, what with the new show’s premiere being next week, and a call like this would only make the rest of his hair fall out. Then there’s Kay, but he’s a dick, and Arthur really doesn’t feel like waiting for him to stop laughing to be helped out. He sighs deeply, and taps ‘9’ on speed dial as his last resort.

 

Twenty-three minutes and forty-nine seconds later, Morgana lets herself into his flat with the spare key. It’s her hysterics that alert him to her presence, then the gentle _‘click’_ of her phone’s camera going off. Arthur waits for the laughter to subside, thinking that he should have called Kay.

“Oh, you’re just precious!” exclaims Morgana, stowing her phone. “Under a couch. Ha! Really didn’t know if I believed it but this is _too_ much.” She is far too gleeful about this all.

“Having a ball up there, Morgana?” he says, fighting the urge to flail his legs about and hope that he hits her by chance.

“I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or take a picture, so I did both!” she continues. “You’ve absolutely made my day. Thank you, Arthur, dear.”

“Glad to be of assistance,” he grumbles. “Speaking of assistance, do you think I could get some?”

“Yes, yes,” says Morgana breezily. “Don’t get your knickers into a twist, I’m coming.” Her footsteps pad towards Arthur’s bedroom for the toolbox in the back of his closet, and the sound of her voice calls back over her shoulder, “How on earth did you manage to do this to yourself, anyway?”

Arthur’s jaw ticks irritably and he tries to suppress a huff of embarrassment to avoid inhaling a lungful of dust. He’d learned his lesson on that front at least once already.

“I was attacked by a vicious, demented monster,” he says, the second Morgana squeals, “ _KITTY!_ ” And then there’s a clatter of his toolbox dropping to the floor, and a startled _meow_ , and the most terrifying sound of all: Morgana forming an emotional bond.

Arthur groans, which comes out funny because he’s still got his cheeks pressed to the floorboards. “Morgana!”

“Look at this wittle face,” she’s crooning as she comes out of the room, holding a cat in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. “She’s darling!”

“No, she’s a menace,” Arthur corrects, and hits the leg of the sofa with the flat of his hand. “Now, the couch?” he prompts impatiently.

Still holding Aithusa in one hand, Morgana squats, and slowly unscrews the offending furniture from the floor, lifting it just enough so that he can pull his head out, relieved. “Ohthankfuck,” Arthur says in one quick breath, sucking in fresh air greedily. His face is red and hot and there are dust bunnies clinging to his ears, and his throat feels like gritty sandpaper, and his chin feels like it’s bruising. “Praise Jesus effing Christ!”

“Drama queen,” Morgana snarks, still petting the kitten.

“I had my head stuck under a couch for the good part of an hour,” he protests.

“Who’s fault is that? And don’t blame it on the sweetheart,” Morgana adds, tickling the furry creature. “What’s her name?”

“Nightmare McMenace.”

Morgana glares at him and he wilts under her gaze.

“…Aithusa.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” she smiles, and the cat purrs. Oh, the bloody traitor. “Where’d you get a kitten?”

“Hell if I know,” Arthur shrugs. “Showed up in my flat and ripped it to shreds. Some bloke had been looking for a cat the other day, though; reckon it’s his.”

And he thinks of the man’s eyes, bluer than he’s ever seen and his long fingers and then of how he’d thought of them last, and then the blood is rushing south and he fights off the sudden arousal with a groan because Morgana is standing _right there_ , goddamn it, with an all too-knowing smile on her face.

“You should probably be leaving now, I think,” he says quickly, hurriedly taking Aithusa from her arms, and both woman and cat make noises of protest.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” she says as Arthur ushers her out the door. “I know better than to get in the way of a sex-starved man and a good wank.” She pauses. “Can’t I at least take the cat with me?”

“Absolutely not. The last thing the world needs is its two she-devils in cohorts with each other,” says Arthur, and spins her outside. Morgana huffs but presses her lips against his cheek.

“Enjoy your wank!”

“ _Goodbye_ , Morgana.”

He sits slouched against the closed flat door and listens to the click-clack of her heels fading down the hall. Aithusa looks at him disparagingly, and if cats could purse their lips, or if they even had lips, that is exactly what she would be doing right now. Arthur glares back at her.

“Stop that,” he says, and she ignores him. “This is all your fault, so don’t look at me like that.”

Aithusa _tsks_ , and stalks off in the direction of his bedroom, her shapely kitten bottom swinging mockingly at Arthur.


	3. [3] cats, lost and found

After the devastation that that blasted cat had caused upon his flat, it had taken Arthur a good hour and a half to tidy up. And even then, the flat still looks like a mess now, with rips down the fabric of his furniture and the base of his walls, and scuff marks everywhere. It had taken a dust pan, some of Mithian’s sewing supplies, and lots of air freshener to make the place look decent. Lots.

And coming home to Aithusa the very next day, sitting atop his dirty laundry and one broken vase with the most innocent expression on her face, is probably the cause for that last marble being dropped.

“You’re joking, right?” he yells, not even bothering to close the door before going off. Aithusa doesn’t flinch, just raises a paw to her mouth and licks it calmly, tugging on a thread of one of Arthur’s favorite sweaters in the process. He watches as the run begins to grow, and the hole in the fabric starts to widen. Alright, that was it. He’s had enough of this kitten; doesn’t matter how cute she is, but she has got to go. And she isn’t even his cat to begin with! He holds absolutely no responsibility for her.

“Outside,” he growls. “Get out.” Arthur reaches forward to pick her up, preferably to place her into the hallway, shut the door, and never look back. Oh, Morgana would have a fit at him, but in the end he would have ridded himself of the nuisance and as much as she tries, Morgana doesn’t irritate him nearly as much as this stupid cat.

Aithusa whines, and shrinks back from him. I’m sorry, her little cat face says. I’ll never do it again. Her eyes beg him to ignore the mess and get her something to fill her tummy.

“Not a chance,” says Arthur, and lunges in one quick move to swipe at her, but she leaps straight through his legs and out the door, the clickity-clack of her claws scrabbling for purchase on his hardwood floors.

And because he’s done so much for the universe lately, it chooses this exact moment to send that dark-haired man stumbling down the stairs with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that melts Arthur’s heart. He sees Arthur and the cat laying about in a tangle and his face lights up, feet skipping steps and bounding to meet them. He reaches for Aithusa excitedly and holds her up above his head, laughing.

“You!” he exclaims. “I’ve missed you!” 

The kitten wriggles free from his grip and clambers down to sit on his shoulder, snuggling him like a baby. She purrs for good measure.

As if just noticing the presence of another human being, the man makes an embarrassed noise, and offers a hand down to Arthur, who tries to accept it with as much grace as he can. Arthur is pulled to his feet, brushing the cat hair off of himself.

“Sorry,” says the man awkwardly. “I got a bit excited there and forgot about you.” He winces. “That sounds bad. Sorry again.”

“S’alright. I’m Arthur.”

“Name’s Merlin.” 

 _Merlin_. What an unusual name, and not one he’ll be forgetting easily. He wants to say it, to feel it roll off his tongue, both pretty little syllables.

“I guess you’ve found my cat.”

“More than happy to give her back. No offense, mate, but your cat is a bloody psycho; do you know how many times she’s tried to kill me? She’s torn up my flat twice now, and I’m pretty sure I have a few broken things I need fixed, so I – ”

“Twice?” Merlin interrupts, stopping him with a finger, and frowning slightly. “Hold on a minute, exactly how long have you had her?”

Arthur rubs the back of his neck and thinks. “Er. Thursday, I think?”

“That’s _three days!_ ” he exclaims, outraged. “And you didn’t think to call?”

“Well, it’s not exactly like I had a name or a number,” Arthur protests, irritable all of a sudden. “How do you expect I was supposed to find you?”

“Don’t sass me!” Merlin cries. “You stole my bloody cat!”

“I most certainly did not _._ ”

“Did so!”

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“We are not doing this.” Arthur grabs Aithusa, who has crawled down the length of his body and is resting on Merlin’s foot, taking her firmly by the belly so that she has no chance to react, and shoves her roughly at Merlin. “Here. Take your stupid cat and leave. Happy now?”

Arthur wishes he could say that the fight has safely quelled any compulsion of his to push Merlin up against a wall and kiss him senseless, but alas, that would be a lie.

“I am, in fact, happy,” says Merlin, wrenching the cat from his hands, and Aithusa gives a pitiful yowl. Both men ignore her. “Now that I’ve found out who _stole_ my cat and gotten her back, _thanks._ ” The words are said with a bite in his tone and an angry gleam in his eye as he turns on his heel and stalks away.

“You’re very welcome!” Arthur yells back sarcastically.

“Fuck you, mate,” Merlin calls over his shoulder, then he is gone.

Arthur slams the door with a bang, slides down to the floor, and groans loudly, and there is no one around to hear it.

He would like to say that he spends his one day off very productively working, but in truth, Sunday is filled with altogether too many cups of tea, generally feeling sorry for himself, and _maybe_ a bit of sad wanking off to a very attractive bloke who thinks Arthur stole his cat. When Morgana rings, startling him out of aparticularly daring fantasy, he almost comes from surprise. Once he’s calmed himself down somewhat, he’s tempted to let the phone go unanswered. Frustrated and cursing himself, he picks up his mobile.

“What.”

“Where’s my baby?” Morgana demands.

“Not even a hello anymore?” he responds dryly.

“We never use formalities, brother dear,” she says matter-of-factly. “Now: the kitten?”

She says it in a way so that Arthur can practically feel her extending a hand towards him through his phone.

“Gone,” he says. “The bloke picked her up. Good riddance.”

Morgana is silent for a moment, long enough that he has to sit up and make sure the call hasn’t been dropped.

“Morgana?” he says uncertainly, and there’s a strangled noise like a – well, cat – and he inhales sharply, startled. “Are you alright?”

“You gave my baby away?” she says at last, sounding like Arthur’s done something truly terrible, like selling her kidneys on the black market without her knowledge. “You _gave her away?_ ”

“She was never yours,” Arthur feels the need to remind her, but she just makes another choking sound and hangs up.

 


	4. [4] cats, lost and found

Still in a grumpy mood when he goes into the office on Monday, Arthur grumbles his hellos to his coworkers. Even better, when he arrives, there is Morgana sitting at his desk, looking determined yet still perky. If her appearance is anything to go by, she’s had a better night than he, and is currently in her mission-mode. It consists of her most slimming jeans, and a scarlet v-neck that dips low, low, _low_ , exposing more of his sister than Arthur has ever wanted to see. Her eyelids are dabbed smoky and her lips swathed in crimson, an ensemble that turns heads of all genders, and ultimately ensures that Morgana gets _anything_ she wants.

“So I’ve decided that I am in want of a cat,” she says primly and throws a folder full of papers on his desk. “These are bios of kittens from one of our local shelters. Help me pick one out.”

“You’re insane,” is all Arthur says. “Now if you don’t mind, I have actual work to do?”

Morgana just rolls her eyes and shuts his laptop, picks it up and gives it to Ewan from IT, who is just passing by. He looks startled when she presses a kiss to his cheek and tells him to watch over it for the next twenty minutes. “You’re a love,” she tells him.

“I don’t know why they let you off your leash,” Arthur says, shaking his head.

“It’s because I won them over with my charming personality.”

“You know, I actually admire Gwen,” he remarks. “She has to put up with you every day, the poor girl.”

“Oh, please.” Morgana dismisses this. “Gwen _loves_ it. Encourages it, even! She’s a tad more devious than she makes herself out to be; don’t think I would have picked her if I hadn’t noticed it myself. Just pick a damn kitten.”

Arthur runs an exasperated hand through his hair, letting out a tired sigh. He is, quite honestly, very exhausted. He’s been out of it for days, his job isn’t exactly stimulating, and dealing with Morgana is a draining task.“You don’t need a kitten.”

“How about this one?” she says, completely ignoring him, flipping through the pages and pointing to a picture of an orange tabby. “‘Joshua, three months old, loves socks.’”

“Sounds…good?”

This goes on for about forty-five more agonizing minutes before Ewan pokes his head haltingly in through the door frame and asks hesitantly what to do with the laptop because it’s been more than twenty minutes, and he’d really like to take his break now. Arthur jumps up, relieved, and takes the computer gratefully from Ewan’s hands. Then he ushers a frowning Morgana out the door, assuring her that whichever cat she picked would be lovely, he was sure.

The rest of the day is spent making up for lost time, and Arthur wonders briefly if his life would be so boring if he had just majored in art in college like he had originally planned, instead of adhering to his father’s wishes, and changing his major at the last minute. His fingers twitch over the keyboard, itching to hold a pen, a pencil, a paintbrush. He hasn’t painted in – it’s been, god, what – months now?

His mind wanders to the dirty smocks and dried paint brushes hidden in a bag under his bed, just begging to be used again. There are probably still a few unused canvases somewhere in his flat, too. 

Darting a glance over to his open doorway, he sucks in his cheeks and grabs a pencil, putting it to a paper. Quickly he begins sketching, the faint scratch of graphite against the notepad the only sound in his office, not even aware of what he’s drawing until he’s finished adding the whiskers on a familiar grey kitten. Apparently even the art side of his brain, rusty as it is, isn’t safe from kittens and unfairly attractive men.

With a groan, Arthur rips the sheet from the notebook, crumples it, and tosses into the rubbish bin. He works harder to distract himself after that, working until long after everyone’s gone home and the office is silent except for the sound of his keyboard clicking and only he’s left to turn off the lights.

 


	5. [one-shot] wind and snow and hail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a drabble about merlin's life after arthur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i cried a little writing this

Merlin can wait. He will wait. He will sit here through the wind and snow and hail that will beat upon his back as he guards the isle against all who conspire; and he will stand firm as their enemies rise to take Camelot, even as the elements themselves rally against him; and he will be Arthur's protector as great kingdoms fall and ancient castles crumble to ruins, and as arrows strike down his companions and the blood of friend and foe rains down around his ears. Still, as his heart hardens and the years continue to weather his face, he shall sit, ever vigilant, and wait until the reign of the Once and Future King begins again.

 


	6. [one-shot] promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a few lines about the world's favorite gay wizard/king couple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owch my feels

"You promise?" asked Arthur, gripping Merlin's hand tightly enough to break. "You'll stay with me?"

"For all my life and every lifetime after that," Merlin said. "Our pictures will be painted in the constellations, fated to return to each other forever, my Once and Future King."


End file.
